


Where the Mountain Meets the Valley

by levendis



Series: Gloryland [3]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who: Virgin New Adventures - Various Authors
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Break Up, Depression, Drug Use, Explicit Language, F/M, Gallifrey, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, Whiny Adolescent Nerds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:36:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5622586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Growing up is one of the worst things you can do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Mountain Meets the Valley

It started with the skimmer.

Theta had been walking, which he did sometimes. He'd left his room with all intentions of going to his Xenobiology lecture, but instead of turning down the breezeway to Wakefield Hall he just kept going, and going, until he hit the city gates and thought, well, fuck it, braced a foot against the bottom rail and propelled himself over. The little fuzz of the transduction barrier passing through his body: someone somewhere was getting a record of this transgression, although Ushas last month traded him a scrambler for his all-point radio, and it's not like anyone ever physically watched the gates.

The shmuck somewhere sitting at a desk monitoring the neccessarily bullshit crimes of a city where nothing happened, all he saw was the Unknown tag blinking back up at him. An error, a ghost, a meaningless blip on the screen. It had a certain poetic air about it, really. Theta was a sucker for poetic airs.

Leaving was always something that just sort of happened to him. Some subconscious thing where his mind drifted and his legs kept moving and then he'd look up and realize he was in the hills. Koschei would make elaborate escape plans, maps and risk assessments, but never did anything with them. He was a little in awe of Theta's effortless ability to be elsewhere.

So he'd been walking, okay, going wherever, over the gate and into the hills, the noise of the city dwindling behind him. The next logical step was Deeptree, since he liked the dark calm of the woods and anyway they never locked their doors. He'd ambled through the trees, across the leaf-carpeted clearing, slipped into a shed unnoticed, then stood there with the screwdriver for a torch, looking for something he didn't know what it was. He'd know when he found it.

The late-afternoon sun filtering through cracks in the walls, dust motes floating. The feeling of possibility, chance, the thrill of being about to do something he'd have to figure out how to get away with.

He took a box of old tape adapters, which he figured he could use, and the signal box for a pigrat trap as a bribe for the next time he needed something from Ushas, and a garden scythe for Koschei's weapons collection. Thinking he trusted in coincidence and serendipity, and there's gotta be something here. And there was.

The skimmer was under a tarp, which he ripped off with a flourish, dust flying. The tiny thing inside him clicked, and he said, out loud, "Yeah, alright," and started dragging the skimmer outside.

Hotwiring anything is a matter of discovering the two or more things the key connects and then connecting them manually. He knocked off the ignition cover with the butt of the screwdriver and yanked out a fistful of wires, flipped the screwdriver around, and whaled on it with brute energy until the thing kicked and the engine turned over, and then he owned a working skimmer.

 

  
It broke down three blocks from the garage. He pushed it the rest of the way, praying to a variety of deities he didn't quite believe in that the antigrav unit would hold up. He got it inside the gates just as it was drifting down, undercarriage grinding against the asphalt.

"Drax," he yelled. "Got a job for you." He waved to Drax, who was sitting on the burnt-out husk of a hoverbike eating lunch out of a metal box. Actual food, vegetable and animal matter. It was a House thing, Theta tried not to stare.

"What the fuck," Drax yelled back. "Are you doing here with that? And where'd you even get it?" He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and hopped down, approaching warily.

"I'm here because I want you to fix it for me." Ignoring the second question, because Drax might be a lot of things but he wasn't, generally speaking, interested in involving himself in Theta's extracirricular activities.

Drax circled the skimmer, examining it and evidently finding it wanting. "I can pay you for the scrap."

"It's not scrap."

"I can get you maybe thirty credits for the engine and then basic scrap rates for the rest."

"It's not _scrap_ ," Theta said. "It was working before."

"Call up the miracle people, tell them Rassilon's blessing shitpile vehicles. I can give you forty credits, fifty tops."

"It's a skimmer. I'm a customer with a skimmer in need of repair. Come on, Drax." Theta grinned, punched Drax lightly on his upper arm. Hey buddy hey pal, help me out?

Drax wasn't buying it. Drax never really did buy Theta's attempts at emotional manipulation. "I run those numbers through the system, what do I get? Show me the registration. Show me a piece of paper that indicates you did not steal this."

"Can you fix it?"

"What sort of person bothers to steal a skimmer. Steal a TARDIS, that takes some nerve. Steal a skimmer, everyone's looking at you like what kind of dumbfuck."

"I know you can fix it. Do this for me. Tell me you can fix it."

"What kind of dumbfuck lifts something totally devoid of value, is what they'll say."

"Drax," Theta said. "I took it, it's over. Can you fix it?"

"Maybe," Drax said. "Dunno. The regulator's shot. I'd need to adapt the engine to run on fuel actually made within this century. And the main thing."

"Which is?"

"What's in it for me?"

Theta chewed on the inside of his cheek, considered his options. "I'll write your Temporal Ethics essay for you."

"The fuck I care about an essay? I've been to class twice, you think I'm worried about an essay?" He said this with studied nonchalance. Failing classes was a point of pride for Drax, he'd already basically dropped out of the Academy. _So what_ , he'd say. _I don't need old dust-bags telling me what to think._

"Money? I have money."

"You got nothing. What, you wanna give me your family's money? You're stealing from your House too?"

"Okay," Theta said, holding his palms up in defeat, or apology. "Okay. What do I have that you want. Tell me and it's yours."

Drax leaned back against the skimmer, one boot propped against the exhaust pipe. He ran a hand through the dirt on the hood. He made a show of contemplation. "The gun," he said, like he was only just then thinking of it. "I want the gun."

Theta had stolen a staser from the Chancellery Guard munitions locker last week, and had been carrying it around with him ever since. Koschei knew about it; Koschei was half the reason he'd stolen it in the first place, although whether it was one-upmanship or a kind of gift or just a threat, Theta wasn't sure. But no one else knew. Except, apparently, Drax.

He wanted the skimmer more than he wanted the gun. The gun was power and brag, the skimmer was transport, flight, the promise of anywhere but here. Easy choice.

"Fine," Theta said. "You get paid when the job's done. And do it right, I don't want the thing crashing a mile from the shop."

Drax did an exaggerated bow. "Of course, m'lord."

"Yeah, yeah, very funny."

 

  
He walked back to the dorms the long way around. It was nearly dark by the time he made it back to his room. He remembered, belatedly, that he was in school and technically that meant he should be studying, not just fucking around. Studying things and then writing about them and then, presumably, exchanging those writings for a piece of paper certifying him to not be here anymore.

First things first, though. He flopped down on the couch and grabbed his deck off the floor, brushed off the crumbs, logged into the Academy network.

There were three ticks on the notification panel: one automatic, alerting him that his absence from Intermediary Chronometry had been noted; one a letter from Koschei, about some hare-brained scheme he'd probably have moved on from by now; one a voice message from Lungbarrow. He didn't open that last one. Just tapped the 'ignore' button, sending it into archive along with all the other messages from Lungbarrow.

He should have started writing that paper. He could have finished that paper, very easily. Instead, he flipped over to the Prydon message board, scrolling aimlessly down. _In Re: the sinkhole outside Bartren Hall. Does anyone else think Barusa is kind of hot? To the jerk who stole my laptop: have fun cracking my password before it automatically self-destructs._

 

 

* * *

 

  
He didn't start the paper, but that was fine. He had plenty of time. A whole, what, three days? No worries. He woke up after the Celestial Engineering lecture had started, had lain in bed for a span or two, then finally rolled out at the message notification alert coming from his deck. Three beeps, descending tones: Koschei.

He wanted to meet up in Low Town. Koschei always wanted to meet up in Low Town. He'd wormed his way into the community there, picked a squat and a room in the squat and then set up shop. Slumming it, because for whatever reason the trappings of poverty were appealing to old money types.

Theta wasn't a fan, particularly, but where Koschei went, he followed. So he followed. Through the city and towards the barrier, the streets getting narrower and more tangled. Stately architecture giving way to a mess of produce stalls and ramshackle buildings. More smells, was the thing he always noticed. The city proper never smelled of much. Here, though: sweat and cooking meat and burning whatever and something indefinable.

He felt supremely out of place, in his Academy robes and what he assumed was an obvious, undeniable aura of Time Lord Initiate. He held his head high and his shoulders straight and tried not to run. Feeling the eyes of everyone on him. _Look_ , they were probably thinking. _There goes another one of those stuck-up Prydons._

He tried to smile, but in a vaguely-confident way, not a crazy way. He made it to the address Koshei had given him, and slammed open the front door, and dashed up the stairs, lungs burning at the unaccustomed exercise. Totally normal, meant to be here, everything is okay.

Koschei lounging in his room like he owned the place. Probably did own the place, come to think of it, or at least his family did. Sprawled out on a pile of pillows looking far too pale and well-appointed for his surroundings. "Took you long enough," he said, not looking up from his book.

"Was there a rush?" Still breathing heavily.

Koschei raised an eyebrow delicately. "I heard you found a skimmer," he said.

"Found it. Yeah. Drax is fixing it now. As we speak."

"And what are you imagining we do with it?" Turning a page, stretching slightly. He must have practiced this, he had to have, all the theatrical cat-like posing, the studied boredom. That act couldn't have come naturally.

"Go places," Theta said. "The ocean. The mountains. Wherever."

"Thete, darling. Why would I subject myself to a primitive, filthy machine in order to stand around looking at trees."

"There's other things besides trees."

"There is nothing, absolutely nothing on this miserable planet I want to see. I cannot stress this enough."

There was a pause. Theta was still adamant about the importance of the skimmer, and Koschei didn't care about the skimmer, because Koschei hardly ever cared about anything. This could be a fight. It wasn't, it wouldn't be, Theta wasn't in the mood. He huffed out one final wounded sigh and slid down next to Koschei, nestled with his arms around him, and started reading along over his shoulder.

"I'm not sure that's physically possible," he said, pointing. "With the - and the, you know."

"It's _fiction_ ," Koschei snapped. "Erotic fiction, at that. 'Physically possible' isn't really the main concern."

 

 

* * *

 

Drax took five days to fix the skimmer.

"Two spans of actual effort, three days waiting for parts to come in, the rest of the time due to basically you're not very high up on my list of priorities," he specified.

"I'm so glad to hear you care," Theta deadpanned. But whatever. There it was: still ugly and in dire need of a power-wash and a paint job, but working. It would go. He could go.

He dug the staser out of his bag, bundled in a washcloth, and handed it over.

"Our business is concluded, son of Lungbarrow," Drax said, stroking an imaginary beard. "Now fuck off, I have work to do."

 

 

* * *

 

This was a terrible party. Deca parties were always terrible. Officially-sanctioned recreation and relaxation, no booze, no music you could dance to, just bright lights and bowls of healthy snacks and conversations about school. Because what the hell else did they have to talk about.

Rallon at least had more chairs in his room than Theta did. That was something. They could sit and be awkward, instead of just standing around. Theta perched on the edge of the kitchenette counter instead, though. Koschei standing beside him, trying to subtly dry-swallow a pill he'd fished from his pocket. Palming a matching tablet onto the countertop, flicking it towards Theta (who caught it, just barely, and spared a fraction of a microspan to check the stamped code before choking it down with a mouthful of that damn ulanda fruit punch). Looking up at him with bright, unfathomable eyes.

Theta'd never been much good at figuring out what people were feeling. He wasn't dumb. Just, kind of oblivious sometimes. He got the idea well enough when Koschei wrapped his fingers around his wrist, stroking Theta's palm with his thumb.

Theta snatched his hand back, shoved it in his trouser pocket. "Not now," he whispered. "You know how Barusa is about us."

"Barusa's not here."

"No, but _he_ is." Nodding emphatically towards Vansell, who was sitting on the couch looking bored and vaguely unhappy.

"And."

"And he's a narc." Theta closed his eyes, counted to ten, then opened them. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but. Maybe you should think about the consequences of your actions."

Koschei bristled, face falling into a familiar scowl. "What consequences? A few disapproving looks? A slap on the wrist? You'll steal a skimmer, for which the punishment is actual jail time, but you won't let me hold your hand in public. Funny set of standards you have for acceptable behavior."

They'd had this argument before. He wasn't really in the mood to have it again. "Let's just. Get out of here, okay?"

 

They took the skimmer, Koschei grumbling but sitting down quick enough behind him, arms wrapped around his waist. The moon high and bright in the sky, the wind in his hair, the red grass rushing past beneath him, the hands clenching his tunic for dear life. He found himself laughing.

He skidded to a stop on top of a hill, tumbling off gracelessly. The adrenaline still pumping through him.

"You're a madman," Koschei said, falling down to his knees and making a face like maybe he might possibly throw up.

"You love it," Theta said. He darted over and pushed Koschei the rest of the way to the ground, flat on his back. Straddled him, put his hands on Koschei's shoulders, leaned down to kiss him.

Koschei groaned and rolled away, scrambling to his feet. "I refuse to be fucked outside. We're Prydonians, Thete, not Ceruleans. I'm open-minded but I'm not a _pervert_."

Theta took off his tunic and spread it open on the ground. "Sit on that, then, if the grass is such a concern." Aware, of course, of what he was doing, how he looked, bare-chested in the moonlight, that for whatever reason Koschei liked his stupid scrawny body.

Predictably, Koschei made a little gasp that he probably thought he'd successfully suppressed. But he didn't touch Theta, just sat down primly on the tunic, arms and legs kept carefully off the grass. He committed to his mediocre bigoted jokes, if nothing else.

But they'd had that argument before, and he wasn't in the mood to have it again. He kept his mouth shut, then laid down, the grass cool and scratchy on his skin. Stared up at the sky, the faint flickering of the transduction barrier, and beyond that the stars. The universe. All of time and space. He reached out for Koschei's hand.

"We'll get there one day, Thete. Just be patient."

"You believe that."

"Yes. Of course. They can't keep us here forever."

 

 

* * *

 

  
Lungbarrow was calling again. Lungbarrow had been calling for some time now, twice a day, three times. Theta couldn't keep ignoring it, could not keep pretending he wasn't in or he'd forgotten to call back or he'd accidentally deleted the messages or his communication node was on the fritz. He had to pick up. He was nearly a Time Lord, he should be able to handle his family responsibilities by now.

He swallowed hard, his hearts in his throat, and stabbed a finger at the 'answer' button.

"Theta Sigma." Quences, sounding reedy and old. That nasal whine piercing straight through Theta's brain. Looking even older, gray-haired and wrinkled on the view screen.

"That's me, yeah."

"I've been trying to reach you for the past month. I'd been beginning to wonder if maybe there wasn't something actually wrong with you."

"Have you? Sorry, I've been busy, it's the end of term-"

"You've been lazy, boy. I receive copies of all your assessments, you know that. Don't lie to me. Missed classes, low marks, disciplinary actions, generally all-around disappointing results."

"It's been hard," Theta said, feeling impossibly small. "The work. And I'm not - I am trying, it's just..."

Quences sighed heavily, static on the line. Must be a relay point down somewhere on the network, Lungbarrow never did maintain their communications systems adequately. Or any of their systems. Or really any part of anything at all.

"It's hard," Theta finished lamely.

"You're meant for better things than playing truant and handing in jokes instead of essays, Theta. You're destined to be one of the greatest Time Lords Gallifrey has ever seen. The sooner you accept that, the less pain you're going to put yourself through, and the less time you will waste."

_Fuck destiny_ , Theta thought fiercely. His face was hot, his feet were itching, he couldn't be here anymore, doing this. "I'm sorry, sir. You're right, sir. I'll do better in the future."

"Of course you will. You have to. What will have been done must always be prepared for."

Whatever that meant. Theta eked out something approaching a smile, fiddled with the settings until the video feed fuzzed out, then ended the call. Stood there clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to loosen the tightness in his chest. Then he grabbed his overcoat from where he'd thrown it on the floor and stalked out of his room, walking wherever his legs would take him.

 

 

He wound up in Koschei's room. He usually wound up in Koschei's room.

"Everything is fucked," he announced, slamming the door behind him.

"Hello to you too," Koschei snapped. He straightened up from his boneless sprawl on the couch, cross-legged, neatly bookmarking and setting aside a battered copy of _The Arcadian Maiden._

"Quences called," Theta said. He was pacing. Door to desk to bed to couch, and back around.

Koschei grimaced sympathetically. "Is he still going on about that fortune-telling nonsense? He's going to be so disappointed when he finally finds out you're not the second coming of Rassilon. D'you want me to have him killed for you?"

"No. Thanks, but no. He means well. And, I guess. Lungbarrow's never been much. Just sort of average. I'm his best hope to leave a legacy beyond servants and clerks. Which is fucked, if you think about it, because, well, look at me. I'm useless." Theta flopped onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling, willing himself not to cry.

"Nothing wrong with being a clerk. The world needs clerks."

"Easy for you to say, yeah? You're Oakdown, there's no risk of you being anything other than a Cardinal."

"Don't let's argue about this again," Koschei said. He reached over and smoothed down the cowlick in Theta's hair, slid his hand around his neck. He pulled Theta in close, pressed their foreheads together.

"Not now," Theta whispered. "Please. I'm not in the mood."

"It'll help. I promise. C'mon. Let me in, Thete." Koschei pulled back briefly, just long enough to kiss him lightly on the lips, then resumed position. His consciousness pressing against Theta's, soft but insistent.

_Fine,_ Theta thought. He'd meant to say it out loud but they were already under, mentally wrapped around each other. Koschei a familiar, angular presence in his head.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ushas kept office hours between six and seven, when she had the biochem research lab to herself. Extra-curricular activities, experimental pharmacology and skimming the CIA's never-ending supply of nootropics. Competetively priced, and cleaner than what he could pick up in the Outlands.

Theta'd never asked what she spent the money on. You don't ask that sort of question.

She was at the microscope when he came bumbling in, touching it like it was the most beautiful, precious thing she'd ever seen. He waited patiently for about five microspans then cleared his throat. And then louder, and louder, and then just a theatrical coughing fit.

"You're looking for a cold remedy, then," she said dryly, not looking up from whatever she was examining. Molecules or atoms or quarks.

"No, that was a fake cough. I want - I dunno what I want. Something nice. What do you have?"

She sighed, finally pried herself away from the view screen and turned to face him. "You shouldn't take medications just to find out what will happen. They're a means to an end. Not recreational. Not meant to be taken lightly."

"I'll be careful."

"You're never careful." But she unlocked a drawer, and unlocked a box she pulled out of that drawer, and pulled out a vial filled with tiny green pills. "They give these to agents off the field," she said. "Low-key stuff. If you want 'nice', these are it. Standard disclaimers apply. And drink plenty of water."

Disclaimers being _don't implicate me if you get caught_ and _I will not baby-sit you through a bad trip_ and _try not to overdose._ He gave her his credit chip, aware that his fund were running dry. She gave him a vacuum-sealed packet. They nodded vaguely at each other. She went back to the microscope; he high-tailed it out of there.

  
Just the fact of being in these buildings made him short of breath now. Like the walls were pressing in. He had a lecture to attend. He wasn't going to attend it. Sitting in a chair, for hours on end, in the dark, listening to some old man drone on and on and on about nothing, nothing at all - he couldn't do it. So he walked quick-paced, head down, through the halls until he made it outside. Then ran, basically, ran as fast as he could to where he'd hidden the skimmer, behind one of the vault access sheds, in a bush.

He tore the vacuum-sealed plastic apart with his teeth, swallowed one pill dry and straddled the skimmer, feeling the motor thrum. Waited for it to hit his bloodstream, to find his footing. And then: like a blanket settling down around him, soft and warm but not heavy. Feeling the motor thrum. Feeling like the universe was spread open before him, his for the taking. Feeling okay.

He rode towards the setting of the second sun. Cotton-mouthed, light-headed. Wishing he could just ride and ride, never stopping, always a new destination, always new ground beneath him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Night turned to day turned to night turned to day and over and over. The year slipped away from him. He was fine, he felt fine, everything was fine. There was nothing to worry about so long as he kept moving, didn't look over his shoulder, didn't look anyone in the eye or anything straight-on. And that's the story of how Theta failed his exams for the second time.

Rallon thumped him on the back and said, "Plenty of people don't make it on their first try. Nothing to get fussed about."

An awkward silence fell, their little bubble in the middle of the crowd. After a few pointed looks from Millennia, Rallon amended his words of encouragement: "Or second time. Or third time, even. The point is to keep trying. Chin up, eh? You'll get it next time. Don't worry."

Theta forced a smile. "Yeah. Thanks."

"He's an ass but he means well," Millennia said, tucking herself under Rallon's arm. "And he's right. You just need to work a little harder, that's all. Put your mind to it."

He nodded and smiled again and then rushed off as fast as he could without appearing to be running. It shouldn't matter. It's not like he'd cared before. And if he'd failed because he hadn't cared then why should he care that he failed?

 

 

Belatedly, he realized that Koschei had been following him. Also trying very hard to not seem to be in a rush. Hurrying about is unseemly.

"She's also an ass, but she means well." Koschei finally managed to catch up with Theta, breathing heavily. "It's adorable, frankly. They're all so nice. It's not their fault they don't know what it's like."

"What it's like?" Theta picked up his pace, partially out of spite.

"To be different. Like we are."

Theta wheeled around, walking backwards. Watching Koschei's face as he struggled with the unaccustomed physical exertion. "We're not different in the same way, though."

"Stop, please, can we stop - stop this ridiculous scampering?" Koschei stumbled to a halt, bent over, hands held up in defeat. "Thank you. _Thank you_. Anyway. What I was saying."

"We're different." He still wanted to run, could feel the itch in his feet, his knees, his lungs. He wasn't sure why this conversation was happening now.

"In different ways, sure, but we're both outsiders. Why do you think I picked you? You were the only one out of that group who wasn't so far up Gallifrey's arse they couldn't see what really mattered. You're not like them. And they won't ever understand you, Thete. Not like I do." Koschei stared at him wide-eyed, imploring.

Shit. As if Theta hadn't felt claustrophobic already. He looked down at the ground and then off at the horizon, and bit his tongue as Koschei led him back to the dormitory.

 

  
Late enough now that curfew was enacted. Just barely, they missed in-time by half a span, if that.

"Killjoy dead ahead," Koschei muttered, wrapping his hand around Theta's arm.

They walked straight towards the hall monitor, heads held high, as if they had a perfectly reasonable excuse. Confidence can open a lot of doors and push past a lot of security measures, after all.

"All students are to be inside their dorms by sunset," Runcible said. That awful high-pitched voice.

"Fuck off, Runcible." Koschei's grip tightened on Theta's upper arm.

"I'm doing my job. You're out past curfew, I have to make a report."

Theta rolled his eyes, ran his free hand through his hair, smoothing the cowlick down. "D'you ever get tired of being a bore?"

Runcible stood his ground. Trembling a little, voice shaky but clear. "Do you ever get tired of being a delinquent?"

"All the fucking time," Theta said. He brushed past Runcible, a touch more forcefully than neccessary. Extricating himself from Koschei, hand yanked away from his arm. He stalked towards his room, not looking back. The door locked, double-locked, deadbolt-sealed behind him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

One of the first things they ever teach you here is: all actions have an equal and opposite reaction. All actions have consequences. Nothing exists outside the web of causality.

Theta Sigma, in his web of causality, eating roasted nuts out of a paper bag. Slouched down on a high-backed chair.

On the other side of the desk: Barusa, fingers steepled beneath his chin. He looked exhausted.

"You know why you're here," he said.

"No clue," Theta tossed off. "Did I win a prize? Is it a vortisaur? I've always wanted a vortisaur." Chewing with his mouth open.

"Don't be cute," Barusa snapped. "Tell me why you're here. Tell me you have at least a modicum of self-awareness."

Theta dropped the empty paper bag on the floor. Crossed his arms over his chest, tried to look like he didn't care. "I was rejected by the committee. You're disappointed in me. You wish to give me a stern talking-to, followed by a short but impassioned speech that will cause me to renew my enthusiasm for academia."

Barusa groaned. "You think you're clever, don't you. The worst part, Theta, is that you _are_ clever, frighteningly so. But you can't keep relying on that. You're coming up to your first century, the time for being a child prodigy is long since over. I picked you because I thought you had the potential to do great work. But what's the point of potential if you're determined to squander it?"

"Was that a rhetorical question, sir?"

"Do you think you're the only adolescent to dream of exploring the galaxy? Every class has someone like you, Theta. I've taught dozens of them. I was one, for Rassilon's sake. I thought I was the only one brave enough to see through the High Council's hypocrisy, that I was special. Believe me when I say I understand how you feel right now."

"What happened to you?"

"I grew up," Barusa said. "Everyone has to grow up eventually. Even you."

Theta drifted down further in the chair, head nearly on the seat, then slowly dragged himself back upright. Rubbed his eyes with balled-up fists, straightened his shoulders, breathed in shakily. Feeling himself space out a little, like he did sometimes, the air going flat and still, the sensation of not being entirely here. "So what do I do, then? How do I grow up."

"I do hope you're serious, although I'm sure you'll understand if I'm a bit skeptical. You're a bright young man, I'm confident you can figure out the basics. Re-take the exams you failed. Find a sponsor. Show up to your counselor's appointments. Do the work, Theta."

He'd never meant to crush Theta's spirit, Theta was certain. Barusa wanted him to be happy. Barusa believed in him. This was just how things worked.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Theta waited outside the Panopticon, watching the Cardinals and their assorted aides filter out. Looking for a familiar face.

"Brax. _Brax_. Slow down."

Brax rolled his eyes, pushed past him. "I have places to be. Catch up."

Theta caught up, skipping a little. Brax had always been taller. Not that Theta was short, or anything. "I need a favor."

"Oh no. No no no. What mess have you gotten yourself into now?"

"No mess," Theta said. He shoved his hands into his pockets, still skipping to keep up. "Trying to de-mess myself, actually. No stupid plans or pranks, no fun. I'm a good student now, and I'll be a productive member of society one day. But I need a sponsor, and I figured, who better than good old Braxiatel?"

"Have you ever tried asking instead of demanding? You might get better results."

"Fine. Brax. Please. I want you to sponsor me. Please do this for me so I can get all the stupid beaurocratic bullshit out of the way in time for assessments."

"Your passion for the institutions of this society is inspiring."

"Brax. C'mon. We're family. Don't you want to help your family?"

Brax stopped in his tracks, sighing, trying to look apologetic. "I don't have the time. You know how busy I am, Theta. It's election season, Cardinal Dratelno is running me ragged. Maybe if you'd asked earlier, I could have found a way to get it done, but as it is...I'm sorry."

_You're not sorry_ , Theta thought. _Not even a little bit._ But he wasn't in the mood for an argument. That old airless feeling, like the world was moving on without him. "So what do I do?" he asked, sounding whiny even to himself.

"I don't know. I can't solve all your problems for you. Apply for a state sponsor, maybe."

"Apply for a state sponsor," Theta repeated. "Like the foundlings do."

"Yes, Theta, like the foundlings do." Brax caught himself, softened his expression a little. Not so much it seemed like he really meant it. "There's nothing wrong with being who you are. There are resources and opportunities available to you, use them."

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks, thanks a lot for the advice. Really appreciate it. Say hi to the Cardinal for me, okay? I'll see you around." He turned and started walking off, clenched fists stiff by his side. Brax yelling something sarcastic after him, whatever, he wasn't listening. He walked until he was sure he was out of Brax's sight, then started running.

He ran all the way back to his room. Slammed the door shut behind him. Sat down on the floor, right in the middle of the room, his legs giving out from underneath him. Shaking and muscles trembling and heartsbeats racing, lungs struggling for air. His brain just sort of elsewhere.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Theta was moping in Koschei's room again. He should start putting this in his planner, as often as it happened. "I have no one," he moaned. "Absolutely no one."

Koschei tensed visibly. Theta refused to feel sorry. If anything, he felt a sick sort of pleasure.

"Quences?" Koschei asked, voice tight and controlled.

"Only if I agree to apply for law. Which isn't going to happen."

"I know people - "

Theta laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. That's what I want, the CIA breathing down my neck. Sign me up."

"Do you want help? Or do you just want to wallow in self-pity? Poor little Theta Sigma, can't catch a break. No one understands him, no one knows how hard he has it." Mocking, sing-song, something cruel but probably at least partially deserved building up. Gritted teeth and a throbbing vein in his neck, and: "You're so fucking stupid sometimes, you know that?"

Theta took a deep breath, stared down at his shoes. "Is this about the - about your internship."

Koschei grinned, or grimaced, teeth bared. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you."

"Don't joke, I'm serious - "

"Joking is the only way to communicate with you. Cheap quips and sarcasm, didn't mean anything, just having a laugh, yeah? Theta the clown. You want me to put that in a dirty limerick so you can understand it?"

That was the part where Theta forgot he was a civilized nearly-Time-Lord, and punched his best friend in the face. History would come to regard this as something of an error.

Not that it had much of an effect. All it did was make his hand hurt. Koschei seemed unscathed. Angry, but not overly injured. But he smiled and lunged forward, shoved Theta square in the chest. Theta shoved back. Things devolved. It was the sort of thing that might have led to something more intimate, a rough kiss and hands down trousers. Not this time, though.

They flailed ineffectively at each other until Theta busted his face on the coffee table and his nose started bleeding like a hose.

"Fuck," he said. Cupping his hands around his nose, trying to remember if it was head back or head down, pinch where, do what. Blood leaking through his fingers onto the carpet. "Okay."

He felt something cold and smooth wrap around his mind. Tendrils. A velvet glove clenching into a fist.

_Get out_ , Koschei thought. He seemed calm, almost. Calm and contained and so terribly sure of himself.

Theta got out.

  
(It'd be a while, it'd be years before Theta started to understand what that haunted, hunted, hungry look on Koschei's face meant. He never really did figure it out entirely. Some parts of the lives of others just can't be known like that.)

 

 

* * *

 

  
"Get into a fight?" Drax asked.

"Fell down some steps."

Drax squinted at him, then rolled his shoulders and turned back to the hovercraft engine, dismantled and spread out on a tarp.

Theta nodded. Okay. He found a spot between half a Mark-20 console and a stack of pallets, took his tablet out, and started reading.

 

 

* * *

 

  
(It hadn't been the first time he'd had blood on his hands, and it wouldn't be the last. The repercussions of violence, guilt, walking away; it still counts even if no one else knows it ever happened, that's Temporal Ethics 101.)

 

* * *

 

It got easier. Schoolwork, at least. Lessons and lectures and labs, essays on celestial mechanics. He was on a regimen now, carefully designed and tailored to his specific needs. He was enhanced, he was chemically controlled within an inch of his life.

Dampen the parts of him that couldn't stay still, boost the parts that might actually enjoy the whole learning thing. Dial up the focus. Uppers, downers, pills for the anxiety and pills for the lethargy. Pills to stay awake and pills to fall asleep. Ushas set up a regular drop-off; a package a week, vacuum-sealed and slipped into his locker at the lab. He ran out of credits, he pawned things. IOU's. He gave blood, for experiments she wouldn't explain, and he never asked. Lying shakey and jittery on a cot, needle in his arm, skimming the readings for Xenoarchelogy.

He wrote papers. The papers were okay. Barusa still looked at him like he was a disappointment, but fuck Barusa. He turned in the assignments he'd forgotten about before, scraped extra credit out of professors with his best charming, self-deprecating smile.

His sponsor's name was Londezel. He'd applied through the lottery, with the rest of the orphans and the bastards and the academically underwhelming. It was fine. She was fine. All he needed was a signature and a brief letter of recommendation. All he had to do was keep his head down. Get through this. Get it done, and get out.

 

* * *

 

 

(Everything was _fine_.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

He left, again. A morning out turned into an afternoon out. The first sun setting as he reached the crest of Mount Cadon, long shadows stretching down. The Academy far in the distance, in miniature. Tiny, isolated, a world in itself and worlds away. Above him, almost near enough to touch, the transduction barrier.

He coasted the skimmer to a stop beneath a tree, crunching through dead leaves. Red and orange, and the red and orange of his robes, and he could disappear here, lie down and close his eyes and not ever, ever be found.

Except he wasn't alone. Movement, quiet footsteps approaching: a hooded figure, hunched and slow. The hermit.

"I'm not here to see you, if that's what you're thinking," Theta said. "Not in the market for mystical claptrap and cheap platitudes. I just wound up here. On accident."

"Much of life can be summed up as 'winding up somewhere on accident," the hermit said. He pulled his hood back, revealing a face unchanged from the last time Theta had seen it, what, must be fifty years ago by now. Lined and ancient but somehow ageless. An odd youthfulness, a kindness around his eyes. Not that Theta was in any need of kindness.

Theta rolled his eyes. "Like I said. Not here for advice."

"And I'm not here to give advice. And yet, here we both are."

The second sun setting now. Shadows lengthening, deepening. The stars coming out. The Gamma Draconis cluster, the arc of the Aristaeus galaxy half-obscured by clouds.

"So what are you here for, then? I'm supposed to be planning for my future, choosing a career and all that. Been thinking about becoming a reclusive mystic living on a mountain." Theta leaned back against the tree, hands in his pockets.

The hermit shrugged, laughed softly. Self-deprecatingly, almost. "I'm here to be here. I exist. Like that flower over there - its only job is to be itself. The universe asks for nothing more. And I think it's a success, don't you?"

Theta looked towards where the hermit was pointing. It was a daisy, nestled in a thatch of long grass. It was - daisy-ish, he supposed. If that meant anything. "I'm meant to be - they tell me I'm destined for something great." _The universe expects more of us than it does of plants,_ is what he didn't say.

"Figure out what you are, Theta Sigma, before you try figuring out what it is you're supposed to become. But like you said, you're not here for an old fool's advice. I'll leave you to your career-planning, hmm?"

The monk left, drifting down the mountain. Theta stayed for a while, hunkered down by the tree, staring at the daisy. Like it might mean something, anything, if he only thought about it long enough.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"It's going well, then," Londezal said.

She was barely a century older than him. Just out of school, still on her first body. Certificate of graduation fresh-printed and hanging on her office wall, pride of place. She was trying hard to seem mature, Theta could tell. He was getting better at figuring out what people were thinking. She dressed modest and severe, small frame swallowed up by yards of robes, hair cut simple, shorter than was the fashion.

If Theta were just a little more sober, he'd think she was one of the most beautiful people he'd ever met.

But he wasn't, so this was just another required meeting, the regular check-in to make sure he was fulfilling his obligations. He was fulfilling his obligations. He was sitting on a hard, uncushioned chair in front of her desk, feeling his midday pick-me-ups kick in. She was taking down notes.

"It's going okay, yeah," he said. He smiled blankly.

"You're enjoying your studies? No problems with the internship with the Outlands Outreach? Parana can be a bit overbearing, I know."

"They're fine. It's fine. Parana is fine." He was aware, distantly, that he was being a bit petulant. It was just that the questions were pointless, these sessions were pointless. He had better things to do.

She was sighing heavily, rubbing her eyes. Some part of him remembered how young she was. Something inside him shifted uneasily. "Sometimes, Theta, I wonder if you wouldn't be better off with someone else. Evidently you don't feel comfortable enough with me to talk about what you're going through."

"You're fine," he said. "I mean. You're - this is alright. I feel comfortable." He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched and unclenched his fists. Ushas' chemical wizardry speeding through his veins. He opened his eyes and said, "I just want to get this over with."

"You know, there's more to life than just getting things over with." She stared at him, not unkindly.

"Yeah, I do know. Tried that once. Didn't work out so well."

There was a pause. She was trying to figure him out. Whether she could ask, if he'd answer if she did. Or at least he assumed that's what the look on her face meant. But time was up: the ding on his communicator, and then the faint buzz of the antique alarm on her desk. He stood up slowly, bracing himself on the back of the chair, and started making his way to the door.

"One more thing," she called out.

Theta raised his eyebrows, hovering in the doorway.

"Get clean. I want to meet Theta Sigma, not the zombie who keeps cluttering up my office. Our next meeting, I want to be able to run a tox screen on you and come up empty."

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said. Hearts in his shoes. He couldn't be popped on some petty narcotics charge, not when he was so close -

"I don't care," she said, interrupting his internal monologue. "Really. I do not care beyond wanting what's best for you. I won't turn you in. You want to medicate yourself to a position on the High Council, fine, you won't be the first. But I won't be your sponsor. Get clean, or find someone else."

He kept his face blank, and nodded noncommittally, then walked off as carefully and steadily as he knew how.

 

 

* * *

 

  
He'd been doing the work. Assignments turned in nearly on time, tests passed, shifts at the outreach center completed. He'd earned some time off. No one would blame him, no one could judge him. So he walked all the way up to the door of Zelentroverox Hall and then, pulling a face like he'd just realized he'd forgotten something in his room, turned heel and ran. He ran, fast as he could without arousing too much suspicion, working on his cover story should anyone stop him. No one stopped him.

The skimmer was stashed in a burnt-out hut just outside the transduction barrier. He'd been moving it around, fingerprints wiped every time, a particularly nasty DNA-killing spray he'd nicked off Ushas applied thoroughly. Smelled like plastic and lavender and his brain cells dying. But it worked, probably. He did a quick look around, then ducked into the hut.

"Hello, beautiful," he whispered, and ran his hand reverently along the rusted metal chassis. Dragged it outside, and then along the road far enough hopefully the engine noise and vibrations wouldn't activate any alarms. He hopped on, started the engine, sat there for a moment feeling the motor vibrate beneath him. Motion and energy reverberating through his bones. He flipped it out of standby, kicked off, and coasted it until he'd made it out of earshot of anyone still hanging around the edge of the city. Then he floored it, speeding off to nowhere in particular.

 

He didn't know where he was headed until he got there. The Perdition valley, ridges rising up above him. And the river. The tall red grass parted for him, flattened behind him. Wind in his face. The trees, winter-bare; the rapids, the rocks.

His communicator was buzzing in his pocket. Not stopping or slowing, driving one-handed, he fished it out, thumbed it on, held it up to his ear.

"You've gone again." Koschei.

"Clearly."

"Where are you?"

Theta considered. Was it worth saying? They'd both silently agreed not to mention it again. "The Lethe," he said flatly. "Following it through the valley. I think I'm about to hit Arcadia."

"You're on the skimmer, aren't you. Talking on a communicator while driving, really. You're a reckless idiot, you know that? If you die, I get all of your stuff."

"Take what you want," Theta said. He turned the communicator off, held it out over the ground rushing past, and let go.

 

 

* * *

 

 

51% percent.

He'd come back to the dormitory dirty and exhausted and empty. The notification light on his deck blinking. He'd ignored it. Took a shower, changed, sat down cross-legged on the floor. His hair dripping onto his shoulders. Food pills, other pills. Two reds, half a green. Equalizers. He'd stared at the turned-off screen, the blinking light.

And finally he'd swiped it on, and opened the message, and there it was: 51%. Passing, barely. This is what he'd wanted, right? This is what he'd been working towards. Official verification of his ability to handle the symbiotic nucleus and everything it entailed.

Some Houses turned this into a ceremony, a big to-do. Quences would certainly want to give it all the pomp and circumstance available. Traditional chant-songs and the reading of the scrolls and all that candle-lit bullshit. Everyone looking at him. Well, fuck Quences.

He put in a call to the Office of Regenerative Affairs and made an appointment, soonest available. _We can fit you in the end of today,_ they said. _Are you sure you don't want to wait? You're the first to schedule, most Initiates wait a week or so._

He was sure. Sure-ish, anyway, in the sense that he meant to do it, but didn't feel like looking too closely at what it was he was doing.

So here he was. A beige waiting room, with brown couches. A bored receptionist. A screen on the far wall playing an advertisement for regeneration coaching: _Become the person you were meant to be!_ Theta sat down on one of the couches, trying to keep his posture straight. Shoulders back, spine aligned.

Time passed. He started slumping. Eventually, the receptionist nodded him into a small grey room. An elaborate reclining chair: he sat, did not get comfortable. More time passed. He acquainted himself with the ceiling, the cabinets on the wall, the white noise piped through hidden speakers.

Finally, the door opened. A tech stepped in, white coat, sensible shoes, a small Cerulean Alumna pin on her lapel. "So! Congratulations, uh." She looked down at her tablet. "Ward 9-18-7810a."

Theta flinched. He hadn't heard his official designation said out loud in years. Bad associations, you know. But this wasn't really the sort of situation you used your nickname in, so. Ward 9-18-7810a it was.

"My name's Theolex, I'll be implanting the nucleus for you today. Are you expecting anyone to join us?" Very rote, by the book. Must be new.

He shook his head.

"Well, we always get a few loners. Not everyone participates in the rite, that's fine. Any questions about the procedure?"

He shook his head again. Feeling maybe some things knock loose. This still hadn't settled in, what was happening.

"Are you on any medications not listed in your official transcript?"

Theta did his best not to squirm. "Just some, uh. To help me sleep."

The tech raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Waved a scanner over him - he held his breath - but it was fine, everything was fine. This was happening, it was fine.

Some bustling, some assembling of vials, tubes, wires. Electrodes pressed to his forehead. He zoned out. A needle in his arm. Something happening. Something -

"You might feel a bit strange," the tech said. Thealux. Theramox? "Nothing to worry about."

Theta nodded, and settled in. Feeling his blood shift, muscles stretch. Feeling the edges of something start to crystalize in his brain. A space being made. He felt foreign in his own body.

Two spans later, his futures were secured. He would die and be reborn, he would be other people. He took a deep breath, trying to find the spaces created within him, the newly-inserted potential, the branching paths he now was.

The tech must have noticed Theta's disappointment, because she patted his arm and said, "Don't worry if you don't feel any different. You're not any different, not yet anyway. This doesn't change you. Just means you _can_ change, if you have to."

Theta nodded, and let her take the needle from his arm, press his thumb against the fingerprint signoff, the retinal scan, the new world of legal obligations and cultural expectations opened up to him. Taxes, checkups, promises not to abuse regenerative privileges, oaths to uphold the legacy of Rassilon. Et cetera, et cetera. He smiled weakly and slowly made his way outside, to the bustle of the street, the sun shining too brightly, everything so familiar and so unsettlingly foreign. The terrifying depths beneath the lake's placid surface.

But that was just the sedatives wearing off. DNA settling. It was the same old world, he was the same old Theta. He shook his head, working the cobwebs out, and mustered up as much confidence as he could as he set off down the sidewalk. Chin up, shoulders back. This was what was supposed to happen, after all. And he'd earned it.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"I'm a Time Lord now," Theta announced to the bartender.

The bartender nodded, polished a glass that did not need polishing. The bartender was not a Time Lord. This was Low Town, where Theta and his bright chapter robes and shiny new set of regenerations stood out like a sore thumb. Theta sort of liked standing out. At least here he was obviously unwanted, could qualify and quantify the shape of their resentment.

This was one of the few pubs left within the Citadel. There'd been cleanups, moral panics, the general attitude that there was no place for such base hedonism here. Go find your own home, make your own city, staying here does as much harm to you as it does to us. Or so the politicians' rhetoric went. Dim lighting and the old-fashioned analogue service, the food and drink made by hand from organic, naturally-occuring material. Janitors, shopkeepers, non-temporal mechanics. In small groups, laughing and talking. Some by themselves. They'd all live and love and then die, and stay dead. They'd be what they were and that would be enough. The universe would never ask for anything more. The universe had never asked for people like him.

Theta motioned for another drink. Cheap wine, mixing uncertainly with his standard cocktail of chemical enhancers and dampeners. He was different now - would this affect him differently now? Did this taste any different? The alcohol burning its way through his throat, his thoughts drifting, a faint nausea. The room spinning. Another, another.

He kicked himself out eventually, telling the bartender a story that did not need to be told, about how he had _responsibilities_ and _appointments_ and _important Time Lord things._ He wove his way through the streets, pushing past the foot traffic of Cardinals and frantic assistants, the mid-day sun beating down. A familiar-enough path through the historic district, through the lobby of the Academy administration building, slumping against the elevator wall, smirking at the receptionist and showing himself into Londezal's office.

He collapsed down on the chair in front of her desk, winding up sideways, legs over the armrest and his head sort of upside down. The room still spinning. The familiar feeling of a fuck-up in process. "Hey," he said. "I'm not late this time. Because I'm a Time Lord. Right? On time."

"I gave you an ultimatum," she said.

"Right. Yeah. 'Shape up or ship out'. Can I choose option C?"

"I meant it," she bit out. Looking almost like she was on the verge of tears. Rassilon knew why she gave so much of a shit about him. He was just another two-bit orphan riding the coattails of a second-rate House, priming himself to be another cog in the machine. There was no reason for her to care.

There was no reason for him to care, either. That feeling in the pit of his stomach, it was just because he hadn't eaten anything all day, or all yesterday, and the wine had hit him hard. He untangled himself, put his body mostly upright. Remembered the basic standing position, how to walk away.

"Do you want threats? I'll report you. Revoke my recommendation. I'll call your House, Theta, would that put enough fear in you to snap out of this?"

He swayed, feeling gravity, feeling the whole of his bullshit history swarming around him. What he'd been, what he'd be, the hinge-point he didn't want, had never really wanted, the decision to be himself. Because fuck him, honestly. "Do what you want," he choked out. "I don't care, just do - do whatever, okay? And leave me out of it."

He ran back to his room, stumbling and definitely not crying, and threw up somewhere in the vicinity of the toilet.

 

 

* * *

 

  
The catacombs were dark and damp. Magnus led the way, holding a borrowed ceremonial torch, the flame flickering. Theta adjusted his mask, tried not to trip over his robes. It was a maze down here, turns and loops and only the occasional scrawled graffiti to tell the difference between identical stone archways, repeating corridors.

Theta failed to put a name to the dread, the specific dread he felt at watching Mortimer draw the chalk circle. Something wrong around the edges of him. Deja vu, nearly, not quite. A history that would one day repeat itself. But the drugs were kicking in, and the fact Theta was slipping under more than adequately explained why Mortimer wore two faces now, why an unfamiliar title was lodged in the back of Theta's mind.

 

They said his name. Not his name - his nickname. He became aware that he no longer had a true name, did not have the right to one. He became aware of the skull beneath his skin. He became aware of how little he meant, how unlikely it was for him to exist, what a complete cosmic joke he was. He might have been laughing. The room was spinning, or he was being spun. Shadows flickering, the ground unsteady beneath his feet. They weren't saying his name because he didn't have a name because he wasn't real. Everything unraveling. Time unspooling. The tether straining, fraying.

_Foundling_ , Koschei might have whispered harshly into his ear. _You're nothing, you're nothing, you're nothing-_

Theta came unstuck. And he saw:

 

 

 

 

> Monsters, metal monsters, ridiculous round slow-moving things but the fear in him, oh the fear
> 
>   
>  A young man in a kilt grinning, holding his hand out, joyously yelling _run_
> 
>   
>  Koschei, not Koschei anymore, older and harder and dangerous and fighting not to win, just to fight, just for something to do - or something else
> 
>   
>  A city on another planet, a woman, they are running down narrow streets hand in hand, and they are laughing, and he is in love
> 
>   
>  The children are arguing but the children are always arguing, and he is admitting to himself he finds a certain sort of comfort in that, a sense of family, a long-buried nostalgia
> 
>   
>  Cake, the best cake there has ever been, the very platonic ideal of chocolate cake, fresh-baked and shared with a friend. A table out in the sun. Time wasted, and happily so
> 
>   
>  A game of chess, lives in his hands, the thrill of a well-set trap
> 
>   
>  A muddy field, a nurse, tents filled with the wounded, the dying, the already dead
> 
>   
>  He is piloting a TARDIS through the squall and he doesn't care if he makes it, doesn't care if he dies, this war is unwinnable this war is -

 

  
He blacked out.

 

Mortimus informed him that he'd been crying. Magnus shook his head, reassured in his eternal disappointment. Ushas administered a dose of something, then a dose of something else, the needle sliding into a vein on his wrist. He blacked out again.

 

"You nearly regenerated," Koschei said.

Theta was in a bed. Not his bed, not Koschei's, not the squat, somewhere else. The mattress was lumpy, the sheets were filthy. He was filthy. Sweaty, grimy, covered in ash and chalk and blood - no, not blood - that hadn't been _real_ -

"I took you to my safe house. Had to. Couldn't keep you in the dorms, you were too much of a mess."

"You have a safe house?" Theta worked his jaw, swallowed against the rawness of his throat. And then coughed, and then leaned over the bed and vomited.

"Of course I have a safe house. It never hurts to be prepared. You'll have to clean that yourself, by the way. Whenever you feel up to it." Koschei sneered, a thin attempt at covering up his revulsion.

"Yeah, okay." He slumped back into bed, worrying at the sheets. Twisting, shivering, looking for the one position that might be comfortable, that wouldn't hurt. Everything hurt.

"What did you see?" Koschei was crouched by the bed now, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and resentment and fear.

"I saw -" Was it even worth saying? "I dunno. All a bit of a blur."

A muscle twitching in Koschei's jaw. Resentment taking the upper hand. Anger, and then a shuttered look, and then he was leaving. "Don't bother locking up when you go," he said, as he hesitated by the door. "I won't be needing this place anymore." And then he was gone.

Theta had the sense that there was a possibility here he was letting slip away. A forking path. He had made a decision, somehow, without really meaning to. This would have repercussions. Because he could still feel it, could still feel the faint fading echoes of his own future. He'd gone right, Koschei had gone left. A door had been closed. He wondered if he'd ever get used to this feeling, endings solidified, faith in the obscure workings of time. A knowledge, unsupported by fact but deeply felt, that he'd irreversibly fucked up.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He left a message for Ushas. Voice, his hands too shaky to type. Sober enough to realize he hadn't been actually sober in a long, long time. Intoxicated enough to not notice how poorly thought-out this plan was. _Cut me off. I don't care how much I whine, or how much I pay you. Just cut me off. Please._

How bad could withdrawal possibly be, anyway. Time Lords were genetically superior, were designed to resist such petty concerns as chemical dependency. He could do this. Alone, by his own free will, he could put himself back into the world. Back into himself. There was nothing wrong with being himself.

  
He found himself on Mount Caden again, alone this time. A thin layer of snow coated the ground. He was cold, unacceptably cold - he'd forgotten to wear a jacket, forgotten how the world felt when he wasn't busy ignoring it. But it was fine, the cold was fine. The cold was necessary, honestly. A shock to his system, his lungs working against the raw air. Shivering and miserable, but present.

The daisy was dead, along with all the other daisies, but that was fine. That was how things worked. What mattered is that the daisy had _been,_ and that next spring thaw another daisy would be there to replace it. The cycle of things, the turn and return. That was enough. That had to be enough.

He hopped back on the skimmer, flexing enough feeling back into his numb fingers to turn the throttle. He left a swath of melted snow behind him, dead dark-red grass exposed, an arc cut down the side of the mountain.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Five days," he said slowly. "I've - not been doing the things I wasn't doing anyway, for five days now." He exhaled, hoped he wouldn't have to explain further.

Londezal leaned back in her chair, an undecipherable mix of emotions playing over her face. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible," he said. It's the first honest thing he's said in months.

"There are resources," she said carefully. "Support groups. Therapy-"

"I don't need help."

"Everyone needs help, Theta. Especially at your age. Although I know how young people hate admitting to weaknesses."

"I'm not that young," he protested. Ears reddening.

"Young enough," she said. She reached over the desk and ruffled his hair. "Little Time Tot trying so hard to be a grown-up."

"Just doing what I'm told," he said sullenly.

"Ah. And that's how I know you're still a boy. World's not in black and white, Theta Sigma. It's not you against them."

That seemed right, that piece of advice. Didn't quite fit in with the pieces of himself he had available, but still. Something to work towards.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Twenty days," he said. Chipper, with a shit-eating grin. "Since the not-a-thing was an. Ex-not a thing."

Londezal rolled her eyes, squashing down a genuine smile. "Now's about the time you start setting your sights a little higher than simply not doing something. But I am - proud of you. Is that the word to use? Still working out this mentor/mentee thing."

"'Proud' works, yeah." He was not blushing, not at all. "And you're doing a great job at the mentor thing. Probably. Don't have much data to base a conclusion on. But you are, uh. Good, I think. And nice. And very pretty."

She narrowed her eyes at him, forehead crinkling. "You've got my seal of approval. You don't have to flirt with me anymore."

"Didn't ever do it 'cause I had to," he mumbled. "Just wanted to."

"Come back when you're granted rank," she said. She leaned over the desk and squeezed his shoulder, affectionate, face screwing up like she regretted the hole she was digging deeper.

"Yeah?"

"No promises," she said.

"No promises," he repeated. He grinned.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The call came in the middle of a day that had been going swimmingly. No portents of doom, no unsubstantiated dread. Theta would figure out later that that was how it happened, generally speaking. Bad news rarely came preceded by a fanfare.

_You gotta come please come oh Rassilon I don't know what to do just get here you stupid half-caste bastard_

Drax in the garage with a cleaned and dismantled staser. Drax and his nervous breakdown. Koschei on a cot, bleeding and scorch-marked, still alive but barely.

Theta took in details, individually processing each piece of information. Drax tight-shouldered, fight-or-flight. Cases of sprockets knocked over, signs of a struggle. Koshei's chest shallowly rising and falling. Low-sun shadows spreading out from the rusted hulks of hovercraft. Fuel-smell, plasma, the approaching storm; electric, oppressive, clouds gathering. Things going wrong. Things already gone wrong.

"We should call a medic," Theta said, feeling distant and cotton-mouthed. His brain stuttering, slow-motion. "I know people - Koschei knows people - there are people who, who won't ask questions."

"He came at me," Drax said. That pale, dead-eyed face. Hands raised in supplication, repentance, searching for words that wouldn't come. "I didn't mean - he ran at me, the staser was in my hand, it happened so quickly, he didn't even seem angry before but he just-"

"Koschei does things sometimes," Theta said. "We all do things sometimes. Things happened. This happened. The 'why' isn't important right now. What is important is we figure out how to fix this. So how do we fix this?"

Drax laughed, a horrible, hollow thing. "We could kill him. Dispose of the body. Hope no one ever comes asking questions. Wouldn't be the first time you just fucking walked away from something, Theta Sigma, this should be old-hat to you by now - "

"Fuck off," Theta yelled. "You don't talk to me about that, you don't. Besides, he's not dead yet, alright? So we call the medic, okay, we call the medic and everything will be fine and you'll shut up and never, ever, _ever_ talk about this to anyone."

The storm clouds gathered, and then broke. Rain coming down hard - it'd been such a beautiful sunny day, and isn't that a perfect metaphor? Theta had always been a sucker for metaphors.

He called a friend who knew a friend who knew a friend. He waited. Koschei stubbornly refused to regenerate. Energy buzzing around him but never coalescing. A span passed, another span. Drax took a mallet to an engine, busting it apart. Busted the pieces apart. Theta paced.

Three spans, and the medic showed up. Hood pulled up against the rain. A scruffy, weaselly man, with his hand held out for a credit chip and his face locked into a put-upon, disgruntled expression.

"Bloody Initiates," he snapped, pouring the contents of his bag onto a workbench. "It's a wonder this society doesn't grind to a halt, with how determined you all are to kill yourselves."

"Each other," Drax corrects, mallet in hand.

"Don't tell me the details. Don't tell anyone the details. Just - shut up and sit down, okay?"

Drax shut up but did not sit down. Disappeared to somewhere within the labyrinthine depths of the scrapyard. Theta kept pacing.

The medic worked. And, after a while, stopped working. "There," he said. "Fixed the worst of it. He should be able to take care of the rest of his own. If you ever need me again, understand the cost goes up the more I have to look at your dumb, sniveling little faces. And I was never here, alright? Any of you want to make an issue of this, if he dies and it comes to trial, you will not bring me into it. Trust me, you don't want to try. It won't be worth it. Okay? Okay." He shoved his kit back into his bag, wiped the blood off his hands with a grease-stained rag, shoved that into the bag as well. Glared at Theta, and then up at the heavens, and then slinked off back into the storm.

And then Theta was alone. Koschei's breathing still rough, pulse thready, but stronger now. Theta pressed his hand briefly to Koschei's chest, kissed him gently on the forehead, and then left.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Did you - was it because of me?" He can't stand still, can't look at Koschei, can't do anything other than pace in a circle, wearing a hole in the carpet.

Koschei scoffed. "The world does not revolve around you, Theta."

"Right, yeah, I know. But." He jammed his hands in his pockets, clenching hard on the fabric. "I mean, I - we, uh. Things happened between us." Theta the coward, still couldn't come out and say it.

"We broke up," Koschei said bluntly. "Not that you ever bothered to tell me. Had to work it out on my own. And it's fine. We grow up, we grow apart, that's the natural order of things. The fact you seem to think I tried to kill myself over an adolescent fling says much more about you than it does about me."

"Koschei-"

"Maybe it was an accident. Maybe I'm bored with this body. Maybe it was a secret mission for the CIA. Maybe-"

" _Stop it._ Stop fucking around. This is important, Kos, I'm your friend, I deserve to know."

Two of those words were the absolute worst words to use, Theta would realize later.

"We're not friends," Koschei said slowly, carefully. "And you don't deserve anything from me."

Theta nodded, extricated his hands from his robes, tried to smooth out the wrinkles with sweaty palms.

"But hey. I'll tell you why I did it, if you tell me what you saw down in the catacombs." Koschei grinned, raised an eyebrow. That old familiar conspiratorial look.

And Theta fell for it. Or maybe he didn't want to bear this particular burden alone. Or something else entirely. But he straightened his shoulders and he let himself remember. "Something's coming. Something awful. A war. Gallifrey will be at war."

"So you feel it too, then?"

Theta stared back at him, guts churning and eyes watering, not trusting his voice enough to speak.

"The impending apocalypse," Koschei clarified. "I've known since I was a boy. The Untempered Schism, do you remember? All of time and space, and the metal monsters at the gate. It's a shame, really, I'd hoped you would have something interesting to say."

"So why-" He cleared his throat, started over. "Why'd you do it, then?"

"Oh, Thete." Koschei's voice was soft, nearly kind. He reached out and brushed Theta's hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear. Lingering just a bit on his jaw, fingers brushing lightly over his skin. "I lied. I'm not going to tell you. You really need to stop being so trusting, it'll get you killed one of these days." He smiled, almost like he meant it. And then he left, unhurried, down the hallway and around a corner and then gone.

 

 

* * *

  
He passed his disputations, just about. Officially a Time Lord, with the biology and paperwork to back it up. His future stretched out in front of him, his past trailed off behind him. He wondered what exactly he was supposed to do now.

And he wondered just how big of a mistake he'd made, what precisely that mistake had been, if it'd been anything in particular or just stuff piling up. Maybe it hadn't been his fault at all. Maybe the web of causality was too dense and tangled to ever pull apart. They'd taught him that his first year in the academy, how impossible it really was to predict or understand anything that happened. He hadn't quite cottoned on to what that meant, really. How it would feel.

Koschei had left for the CIA training facilities two weeks ago and hadn't been heard from since. It was good, probably, to put some time and distance between them. Move on, go forward. Reconnect later, possibly, hopefully. Some lovely distant future where they could look back on all this and laugh at how dumb they'd been.

Theta was still dumb, though. He had a suspicion he'd always be kind of dumb. Incredibly clever and suave and bright, but deeply, deeply, dumb. To be honest, he enjoyed it. Things were far more fun when he stopped trying too hard to act like he didn't have to try at all to understand how the universe worked.

 

  
He showed up at Londezal's office, after working hours. This wasn't a working-hours matter. He'd graduated, after all.

"Hello," he said as he bounced into the room. He didn't sit down. The chair was for students and chairs are boring, anyway. "My name's Theta Sigma. I work with the Outlands Outreach program, in the clinics. I like long rides in the mountains, spring wine, and dancing with beautiful people."

She stared up at the ceiling, as if beseeching the heavens. "You're ridiculous, you know that? Rassilon, it's good to finally say that out loud."

"My name is Theta Sigma," he insisted. "What's yours?"

"Lon. I help little shits become Time Lords, much to everyone's chagrin."

"And gratitude," he said quickly. Not getting choked up or anything. "So. Stranger Lon. Of House Whatever. Are you free this evening?"

"You're asking me out."

"Apparently."

"I don't dance."

"Not _yet_ ," he said. "But try it, you might like it. An idiot once told me that, you know. All you gotta do is try."

Londezal sighed heavily. "A date with an idiot, spurred on by advice by an idiot. I don't know where my life went wrong, but. Sure. Why not."

"You. Me. Low Town. Darmega's. Dancing. Yes. Yes? Yes." Theta winked one eye, then the other eye, then walked backwards through the door. Maintaining eye contact as she fought to keep from laughing.

His dumb, terrifying, inexplicable future sprawling out before him. He closed the door gently, then sprinted off down the hall.


End file.
